Disclaimer: This story is based on Harry Potter, the work of J.K. Rowling.
So fine
Wish it were mine,
So I'll say it again,
one last time— Still not mine.
Chapter Five: Letting It GoHermione sat in the nearest chair and released a tearful breath as she wordlessly thanked the Blessed Mary again for protecting her. Panting from the physical exertion of running, she sighed and shook with relief seeing the gleam in Dumbledore's ancient eyes. His trademark twinkle was absent, what did she see there? Anger, regret, sadness or relief? Maybe it was a mixture of all of those. He had objected to her going, but not as much as perhaps Professor Snape did— who was marching up the circular staircase toward them.
"Albus! We have a pro…" Utterly shocked to see her there, he flung out his arms and gripped the chair his knuckles rigid and white. "Miss Granger!"
Then the lecture started and Dumbledore hadn't yet said a word.
"I thought I told you to stay put!" He spat, jaw clenched, anger barely in check.
"You also said I'd be 'observing.' " She shot back.
"Actually, to be precise, it was Tonks that gave you that idea, and I instead agreed with the description of dangerous. Do you recall?" He was leaning near her, now in a full professorial rant, complete with his over enunciation of consonants. "You didn't even wait to see if I would find you…"
"With your obvious skill, you were completely hidden from view! And— if I had waited… Lucius would've nabbed me for sure."
"You shouldn't have gone at all." Snape's voice was firm.
"It's too late for that now, but it was necessary." She said calmly. Still in her deep voice, Dumbledore's spell hadn't yet worn off. It was a little weird hearing a foreign voice from her lips. She sounded like a smoker… or maybe Kathleen Turner.
"Oh really, and what do you have to show for it?" Snape's hands were on his hips, his words laced with accusation.
She opened her jacket, slipped the slender brass cylinder out from her breast pocket, and held it up with a jiggle of her hand and a faint smile. Don't forget about this.
Dumbledore watched the exchange and clapped a bravo as Snape retrieved the device from her grasp. Holding it horizontally in his palm it spun and pointed with a warm glow toward Hermione.
"What is that thing?" She asked shrinking back from it.
"It's a virginity detector," Snape drawled with a smug lip curl.
Hermione sat, red in the face, thoroughly embarrassed as her privacy was invaded by two men she would've preferred not known about her status. Bowing her head and raising her forefingers to her nose, she pinched the bridge of it, feeling the makings of a headache. You have got to be kidding me!
What the heck would Lucius do with that? Wait… I just risked life and limb for a magical object that's sole purpose is to detect whether or not my hymen's intact?! She was furious. Then she thought on Pansy and
wondered if there was more to it.
Snape looked too smug indeed in noting the result in her behavior. He enjoyed too much getting a rise out of people. She suspected it made him feel somewhat in control. In reality, he was just glad to know that as long as others were out of control he could not be manipulated himself.
"Thank God for the portkey," she changed the subject.
"Actually Hermione, that is something I wanted to talk with you about." Dumbledore began fingers steepled in front of his chin. "I believe you read Hogwarts, A History and read about the legend of the tomb?"
"Yes…" she replied, knowing he was leading her somewhere with this line of questioning.
He continued, "And you came to the forest thinking you would use it to come here…"
She nodded.
"Then I should tell you, that while I've always admired your thirst for knowledge and book reading — Indeed you are quite dedicated, I can't fault you there. Hogwarts, A History is so old, it is not frequently updated. That portkey had been inactive for some time, I'm afraid."
Hermione's eyes widened in horror. "Then how did I get here Professor?"
"Remus contacted me and I reactivated it shortly before you arrived." He looked over his spectacles and Hermione was left with the undeniable truth.
She had narrowly escaped death or a worse fate.
***
After a thorough debriefing of the evening's events with Snape and Dumbledore, she returned to 12 Grimmauld Place. She decided to mention Pansy's situation under the auspices of that it was "out of concern for her peer" to Professor Snape. As Pansy's Head of House, he would be compelled to help her. She disguised her obvious interest in finding out exactly how those ideas were connected, but was determined to get to the bottom of it.
When she walked in the front door she was pulled into the arms of Molly Weasley, resident adoptive mother. Hermione didn't mind, but again it concerned her how she had hugged both girls before. Molly blinked back tears when she released the vice grip she had on Hermione.
Ron and Ginny were next, as both sighed relief at seeing her well with their own eyeballs.
"That was great Hermione! Good job!" Ron said. "Didn't know you could sing like that…"
Harry took a look at her and an expression of bitterness crossed his face. His empty gaze revealed no emotion.
Ginny nodded but seemed a little far away. She cocked her head twice and to the left, toward the hall near the library where Harry had retreated. Remus was there in a manner of speaking, relieved but reserved and silent.
Hermione followed Harry, and the others left her to deal with her friend.
The black haired, green-eyed teen was a mess of chaos as he paced the library floor.
"Harry…" she said softly.
He shot her a contemptuous look, ready to explode.
"HOW COULD YOU? THAT WAS SO DANGEROUS! GOD, WASN'T THERE ANY OTHER OPTION? NO, LITTLE MISS HERMIONE GRANGER HAD TO DO IT ALL HERSELF… YOU REMEMBER THE LAST TIME THAT HAPPPENED??? DO YOU?!"
Not four weeks ago in the Department of Mysteries, Ron had gone silly, Ginny broke her ankle, and both Luna and Hermione had been knocked unconscious while Harry and Neville had fought for their lives.
And Sirius Black died.
Hermione looked at her friend with as much compassion as she possessed, and witnessed the unraveling which had little to do with her.
"YOU COULD'VE… AND MALFOY! SHIT! WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?"
"I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, Harry." She said softly, hoping her tone of voice would help him calm down a bit. She wouldn't instigate him further.
"You're sorry?!" He clasped his hands over his eyes and groaned. "Sorry about what? Y'know cause sorry just doesn't cut it!"
She walked closer to him, trying to make eye contact with one of her closest friends. "I'm sorry I frightened you. I'm sorry that I could've died. And I'm sorry… about Sirius."
Harry grabbed her in a flash, squeezing the life from her and kissed her brow. "I could've lost you…" he croaked.
She hugged him as tightly as Molly would've, and heard the cries come. He collapsed in her embrace on the floor and she held him long, as he let out the first racking sobs of grief since his trip to Albus Dumbledore's office.
She rocked him, and didn't shush him. Tears rolling freely down her cheeks, she rubbed his back, and she felt the eyes of her concerned friends around the corner. Remus sat in a corner at the piano, detached and lost in his own grieving place as he sympathized with his virtual godson. He and Sirius were like brothers once, and had reestablished their bond since Sirius had resurfaced and cleared his name. The loss had hit him very hard, and he confided in few.
Snape had returned for purposes of using the library and to wrap up with Tonks, tying up the loose ends of their almost disastrous mission.
The group was paralyzed as they heard the young man weep, and it was normal, natural even— no matter how uncomfortable it made them feel to hear the audible pain of the Boy Who Lived.
Then he snapped. Pushing Hermione forcibly away, he shot up to his feet, staggering backward in a rage. He simply could not bear any more physical contact or consolation. It made it too real.
Harry spiraled totally out of control.
He flipped over the chair and violently shoved books off the end table, resulting in a loud crash from the falling lantern. He began pulling off books as he cried, words muttered but incoherent. He needed this, but he also needed something else. Someone else.
Hermione got out of his way and stopped the advances of a furious Snape and Molly with a raised hand.
"Remus?" He looked up after she said his name a second time. Her eyes begged for his help. They both needed it, and Remus Lupin was the only one who could give it to him.
Remus looked anguished and defeated, but he obliged. Hermione rested a comforting hand on his arm as he past her.
The group adjourned to the kitchen as they heard the situation quiet down.
The library… was being… wrecked. Snape wore a look of wrath under his skin, and opened his mouth to speak.
"Don't you dare say anything. I absolutely mean that." The glare from Hermione and accusatory finger pointed toward Snape said it all.
He was completely at a loss–- the only student he ever expected not to talk back fully intended on shutting him up even perhaps by force. He realized she'd probably saved him the hexing of his life by Molly Weasley. If the words he had been thinking left his lips he would have been dearly sorry.
Did he have any compassion for the boy? He was thinking about the priceless tomes and there Harry was, shouldering burdens he could not fully comprehend yet bearing them as well as any man. He'd led the DA, lost his parents, watched Cedric Diggory die, fought Voldemort four times, and found and lost the only opportunity at real family in Sirius Black. Snape agreed to help the boy with his Occlumency out of a desire to protect him, but instead the boy found it impossible to concentrate and dedicate himself to study. But how in Merlin's name did he expect Harry to do that under the circumstances? Snape had seen the halls of the Department of Ministries in the boy's thoughts, he had heard of his experience that he became the snake who attacked Mr. Weasley. Could he have done it better?
Molly transfigured an extra bed in Hermione's room and they all crashed. A big slumber party of sorts as no one was fit to do anything but sleep after such an emotionally exhausting evening.
Hermione strolled downstairs at two a.m., her sleeping rhythms long out of whack from her nocturnal habits.
Molly was still straightening the library and had it nearly repaired. Remus and Severus were silently tidying the strewn books, relocating the dislodged pages to their rightful owners where they had slipped out. Snape had intended on reading here tonight. Remus had moved a lot of his books here, especially dark texts. The place was so well-warded, it was much safer to keep them here. Besides, his own flat was running out of room.
If anyone would have intel on virgin sacrifices, it would be Remus. Snape may have wanted to be DADA professor, but Remus had been fascinated by defense and dark magics since he was in grade school. He was decent with potions too, at least in terms of book learning.
Snape saw Hermione, and got to his feet. He had mending to do, on two fronts. He ushered her into the kitchen and began preparing tea.
"This is for Harry," he offered simply, a kind of apology. This was the kindest Snape could be to a boy he always outwardly despised. He handed her the tea and a vial of liquid she recognized as a calming drought.
"Thank you." She nodded. She made eye contact with him and held his gaze a bit.
"You… did well in spite of circumstances tonight, Miss Granger."
"Thank you, sir." I'd do it again. But she didn't say it.
***
Harry slept well into morning, and Hermione and Ginny watched the sleeping figure of an average boy in out-of-the-ordinary circumstances.
Ginny was still a bit teary, thinking of how much pain he'd been through. But he was going to be fine.
They whispered in hushed tones side by side under the covers.
"Ginny, something's worrying me."
"Yeah what?"
"Pansy said her Dad was going to use her virginity somehow, give her over to Voldemort."
"Shhh, don't say his name!"
"Sorry," Hermione apologized.
"Her own father? That's awful." She sighed. "What do you think?" Ginny asked.
"I'm wondering what the meeting at the Order was about y'know? That device or whatever was a virginity detector or something…
"I'm sorry. I heard you say it was a virginity detector."
"I did."
Ginny rubbed her eyes and ran a nervous hand through her tangled red locks.
"And you remember afterward your mom rushed out and hugged us, but not Harry or Ron right?"
"Yeah… Uh oh. Oh no…" Here we go again. You know, this is how we get into these messes, Hermione.
"I think maybe we have something to be worried about, but I can't be sure. I need to talk to Pansy, but I don't think I'll catch her until the term starts."
"Why do you wanna speak to her anyway? She's always been so mean to you."
"Ginny! I think maybe she's in a situation where she has to go along to get along, y'know?" That earned a look of disbelief. "Well, maybe not, but Pansy was really worried. She sooo doesn't want a part of this, but she may not have any choice."
"What do we do?"
"Read."
"I knew you were gonna say that." Ginny said with an eye roll.
Harry woke up and Hermione served him tea and potion. She sat on the edge of his bed.
"Thanks Hermione," he said apologetically.
"Your welcome, Harry."
***
Days passed by, filled with her wrist bent and her nib at a forty-five degree angle. When Hermione's hand hurt too much she went to the library in search of books related to virginity, virgin's blood, virgin sacrifices. She couldn't find a pic of the detector anywhere. She was amazed at the range of books available. She found several books on blood used in potions for healing and protection, fertility. Yeah, we got your fertility. Hmmm. She read for hours and fell asleep in the chair where Snape had sat.
She tossed and turned in bed, her mind filled with feelings rather than images. She felt like she was burning from the inside out, about to burst with… something she couldn't quite place. It was both painful and pleasurable, agonizing but powerful.
Hermione abruptly woke up drenched in sweat, her face glistened with perspiration.
She was burning up with fever, shivering from the illness which permeated her veins. She was dimly aware of the people who stood around her bed. As they came into focus through her sleepy haze, she could make out Mrs. Weasley to her left and the tall, imposing figure of Professor Snape to her right. Her ears were ringing as she reached toward the faint outline of the vial he held out to her. Taking it, Hermione drank it in one shot without question. She made a sour face, which accompanied a exclamation of disgust. "Aaawww…eewww…urgh!" Worse than polyjuice, if that was possible.
Her face stilled as she felt a rumbling in her gut. She reached out for the bucket thankfully offered to her and promptly vomited in it. "You need to get a new job, Professor. That was wretched!" Her weak voice echoed in the plastic container. She hurled again. Molly pulled back her matted hair from her face as the retching continued. Better out than in… she heard Hagrid's wisdom in her head. Speak for yourself. Blechkt.
"It induces vomiting, Miss Granger…" he remarked calmly.
"You mean, you meant for this to happen? God, I feel so much better," she muttered sarcastically.
"I'm counting on it." Snape said dryly. How do you keep doing this to yourself girl? First you turn yourself into a cat…
She gave him a contemptuous look before she heaved again. It was like a 48-hour stomach flu compressed into a span of 15 minutes. Hermione looked up and thought about it— and bolted for the bathroom, taking the bucket with her. She wanted to be alone.
After cleaning up she stumbled downstairs in her weakened state, somewhat embarrassed at the aftermath. "What was that?" Her body felt like it was turned inside out.
"Miss Granger, that is what I would like to know." Snape said with thoughtful conviction. "You seem to have contracted a rare blood disease which is commonly caused by over exposure to dyes or pigments. The exposure must be in large quantities however, so I can't possible imagine how you could've become ill by it."
Oh! The ink she was using was super concentrated, almost thick. Each day (and night) her fingers were covered in the black dye. Her eyes widened and she quickly recovered, her face betraying her secret. Jeez, she was so transparent! She avoided the practiced gaze of the Legilimens seated across from her as she struggled to come up with a good excuse.
"Miss Granger?" A firm voice asked. "Do you have some idea?" His eyes narrowed to slits. No one could hide from him.
"Yes sir," remembering how Molly saw her washing her ink covered hands in the kitchen sink the other day. "I spilled a bottle of black ink all over my hands the other day. It just seeped into my skin. It took me a while to scrub off, but I finally managed. My hands were gray for a day or so. I didn't think anything of it."
Hmmm. He mused. That could be.
"Very well, if your symptoms return, tell Mrs. Weasley immediately and I will brew you an additional batch. However I can't make any claims that it will be any more… palatable," he added with a silky sneer. He seemed almost proud that he could make a potion more unpleasant.
"Thank you Professor." Yes, thank you for making me both sick and well. It was ironic, and she'd laugh about it later.
***
Two weeks later, Hermione had finally finished the manuscript. She laid out each page, comparing it over and over again to the original text. The second one would take three additional weeks, and she planned to pace herself more carefully than she had the first. She spent a good deal of time, sitting at the piano in quiet consolation of herself. She didn't feel lonely, she felt a bit hollow. She let her fingertips caress the ivory keys as she was unaware of the melancholy choices her heart was making.
Spend all your time waiting... for that second chance.. for a break that would make it okay… there's always some reason… to feel not good enough… and it's hard at the end of the day…
The unspoken strains weighed on her and her hands felt heavy. She was tired.
When she was at her most peaceful, her mind was blissfully blank. But at most others, Hermione tortured herself with thoughts of him. He haunted her brutally, his tall dark figure of strength permeating her soul. She had appallingly allowed herself to wallow, succumbing to feelings and desires not in any way validated by the object of her affections. She burned into her memory the images of his look of concern rather than his loathing in Dumbledore's office. She memorized his comfortable slouch in the leather library chair, noting he assumed quite the same position she did as he absorbed all available literature.
She imagined his hours of labor and love into the text she had bonded with day and night for weeks since she'd arrived. She had run her fingers lightly over the spidery words, as if to connect with the enigmatic man in some tangible way. Reading had always been an intimate pastime for Hermione. She often read books dozens of times, either for memorization or more often for the joy of reading. His eloquent manuscript was no exception.
In the end, she decided to place a 'Note from the Artist' section on the back of the manuscript. She signed it with a flourishy scripted symbol, reminiscent of the artistic design on the cover. One could hardly tell if the Celtic knot either resembled an H or a G. Effectively, it was both.
She repeated the symbol on a separate page to submit to Ms. Renou so that people could request her by this insignia. Hermione decided she would custom order a brass seal created from the clever ambiagram of her initials.
Hermione was kind of sad as she slowly wrapped the book in the magical wrap and plain brown mailing paper and twine. She would have much preferred to present it to him herself, and regretted a bit the necessary burden of anonymity.
She decided she could at least ask K. Renou for a description of his reaction. Any feedback would be useful. She fretted and obsessed over the tendrils of gray smoke dotted throughout the text.
Buckwheat had come as a result of her letter to Katie. Hermione would use no other animal to carry the completed work. "This is it, Buckwheat. Do what your good at, and thank you."
For the first time, he nipped her affectionately. It surprised her, she had always imagined him in a virtual uniform, saluting her like a soldier before he departed in flight on his secret mission.
***
Severus saw her more often than he had expected to this summer, seated at the piano or drinking tea in his favorite reading chair. She had similar reading interests and a voracious appetite for knowledge which he admired. She was still over-eager in the classroom, ignoring the other student's needs to learn in favor of her own, pressing on in satisfying her hunger for education. Her beautiful melodies plagued him. He would sit in the library, eyes closed, allowing her music to wash over him.
She was too beautiful by far, and completely unaware of it. The younger Hermione had ignored her appearance, but now that womanhood was taking a hold of her, she was subtly taking more care. He worried on this, completely shocked that the device had confirmed her innocence— and identified her as a target for Lord Voldemort. It's not that he was attracted to her, because he had no need for such things anymore. He had long since given up any hope of a normal relationship or even an unhealthy one. Spying was not conducive for it and he preferred not to develop attachments at such a time. Instead, he was developing a growing fear and protectiveness for the innocent students he had spent years cultivating and watching grow. Pansy, Ginny, Hermione? What would become of them if they survived the war? All three possessed incredible magical potential.
Their light, their youthful exuberance, their innocence—was about to be extinguished for a purpose as yet unidentified. He would be damned if he was going to find out at the conclusion.
Snape was going to find out right fucking now.
***
Professor Snape sat at his large ebony desk, which was littered again with innumerable books and papers. The desks before him were also piled high with various research. Thank Merlin, Lupin was helping too. Severus hadn't brewed much in days.
Once again Buckwheat graced the windowsill of the potions master, disrupting his studies. Once he noticed who the visitor was, he launched himself toward the window. Seeing only a scroll, he groaned with disappointment, fingering the latch. The bird left without waiting for a reply, reaffirming his guess that there was another snag with his manuscript. He sighed and read quickly through the body of the letter:
Dear Sir,
I request your attendance to discuss our arrangement. Please meet me promptly at 9:30 in the morning tomorrow, before the shop opens, as the work has been completed and submitted for your review.
I anticipate you will be most pleased by the results.
Kind regards, K. Renou
Grinning from ear to ear, Snape could hardly contain his excitement, feeling like Christmas had come early.
***
He knocked on the door of Flourish and Blotts, peering in the window for any sign of Katie Renou in the dark shop. She walked up behind him and unlocked the tall door, the customer-bell ringing as it swung open.
"Eager are you, Professor?" She inquired with upturned brow.
He smile crept across his lips in response.
Katie walked to the back and he followed closely behind. She opened her office in the back, following the same procedure as before. She warded the door multiple times, and removed a hefty portrait from the wall behind her. Behind it was an attractive bay window which appeared out of the sheetrock. She unlocked it and looked at her watch.
They sat in silence as she waited with him, her look conveying exactly what was happening. Buckwheat was enroute.
In flew the bird, which releeased the large parcel carefully on Snape's lap and a tossed a letter in Ms. Renou's.
"Professor Snape. I would be glad to lock you in here and give you as much privacy and time as you require to review the work. However, if I may make a request— if you feel comfortable, I would like to see the finished product— if you have no objection." She waited for no reply and let him simmer on that note.
Locking the window and replacing the portrait, she left Snape to his long awaited treasure.
He muttered a spell to remove the silvery paper and picked up the beautifully penned letter that accompanied the volume.
Dear Sir or Madam,
I wanted to express to you my sincere gratitude for honoring me with such a responsibility.
I have greatly enjoyed creating this for you, and I hope you are satisfied with the result. By the necessity of my work, I have read your manuscript several times over. I therefore wish you all success with this huge achievement.
The second copy should be ready in three weeks, but I await your feedback on the outcome of this work before I proceed.
Warm regards,
And it was signed with a circular flourish he couldn't make out. It resembled a knot.
He eyed the top page, carefully slipping off the acid free tissue which protected it.
Merlin. His jaw dropped as he saw the swirling recipe form the beautiful knot in a wisp of cloud. 21 lacewing flies, powdered bicorn horn… It was the formula for the Polyjuice Potion. Perfect. The beginning of that recipe formed the basis for many other potions and was an excellent example from his writings. They had paid attention.
He turned the pages of carefully penned text and absorbed how many hours it must have taken to complete. Margins were perfect, letters uniform and legible. The drawings were an improvement, so similar and yet the angle of the sketched lines provided a depth that was appealing. He'd scrutinize the individual illustrations for accuracy later. Snape's eyes came to a chapter heading and noticed the swirling grey fumes which highlighted each title and page number.
Very tasteful. This had completely surpassed his expectations. He read it carefully, spending a hour or so at least reading his own thoughts in such a brilliant display. It was nice seeing your own work in print. He came to the end and noticed an almost blank page except for the paragraph at the bottom.
A Note from the Artist:
It should be hard for you to miss what an exquisite contribution this scholar has made to the field of potionmaking. I feel completely honored to have had the opportunity to bring this magnificent work any additional beauty. I can only consider my script to be a novelty.
This font is hereby copyrighted by law. It will be used again only with permission of the author.
The artist had offered him his own script. Designed for him. Incredible. He continued to read:
Any future works submitted by this author I would gladly ink free of charge. The privilege to share again in these ideas before publication would be payment enough.
Gesupelte himself would be proud.
And it was signed with the Celtic motif of the artist.
Gesupelte was his favorite of the historic potions masters. Two hundred years ago he had produced some of the most ground-breaking work in potions the scientific community had ever seen. And he was little known, his name a mere footnote, having the majority of his findings recognized only years after his death. Snape was flattered, but felt over-adulated by the remarks of the artist. The artist must have known quite a bit about potions to even mention the little known Gesupelte. In fact many of the ethical concepts in the conservation of ingredients stemmed from his first arguments back in 1700's.
He looked at the signature closely, and turned it like he had the sonnet. It read the same both directions. An ambiagram!
He knocked on the door and Katie entered.
"So?" She inquired.
"It's wonderful," the praise came easily from his lips. He almost choked up.
"May I?" she asked.
He nodded and decided to show her the impressive cover page.
Her face went slack as she appreciated the workmanship of the page. "Oh my God." She pulled out some white gloves from a drawer and then carefully handled the paper. He watched her expressions change as the art historian evaluated the merit of the calligraphy. Clearly, she was not just a middleman. These were her books, her personal collection of what she considered to be the finest examples of workmanship around.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" He remarked.
She nodded absently. Handing the paper back to him for a moment, she rummaged through multiple texts and pulled many tomes. She opened one on Celtic knotwork and flipped through the pages, trying to identify what knot this was and what it represented.
She arrived at one and traced the outline of it with her finger, glancing at the twisted ribbon of potions text.
"Professor Snape, this," she pointed, "was the knot used for the cover of your book."
He looked at it and waited for her explanation. It obviously had some type of significance.
"It's a maze, just subtly different. It represents braving life's struggles, emerging from the center a stronger more triumphant being. And here, she pointed, do you see the dragon heads? The heads of the triskele represent wealth, power and wisdom. Yet, when I step back, I see steam or a snake. I really could study this for quite a while. When do you plan to publish this?"
"I do not know yet, but I suspect it will be soon," he supplied.
"I must say, as a person who has studied this art for quite some time, this book will sell as quickly for potionmaking as it will for the calligraphry in it."
Hermione, you are definitely charging too little, she thought to herself.
***
Hermione sat again, pouring through yet another fruitless book. She had pages of notes now on healing spells and wards which required use of virgin's blood. Why couldn't this be found in one book instead of a few 2 line references in 800 books? Ugh. After this maybe she should put together a book with it all in one place.
She wished she were at Hogwarts. At least there she could use the restricted section, not that she'd had permission. But hey! "Books are for everyone". Especially me.
But come to think of it, there were a number of Dark texts on these shelves. She thought it a bit odd that the adults would leave these lying around. Maybe they thought she'd know better. Wisely, she had avoided them. Books that contained dark magic could be dark themselves, not just the concepts themselves were dark. She squinted and made notes of the tomes here… hmmm… Omens and Heresies: The Rise of Grindewald, Dark Magic and Muggle Artifacts… she skimmed the bindings, searching for a promising one.
The Power of the Innocent.
She picked it up carefully, touching it first to see if it would bite her, or if there was any malevolence she could feel emanate from it. Some books in the restricted section were bound with human skin, or dragon hide. Some of them screamed, or reportedly held ghosts and spirits long trapped in the pages. She had to exercise caution.
Sitting down in the black leather chair, she laid the book on the floor opening it with not her hand, but the tip of her wand. This was definitely looking more promising than anything she'd read so far.
…picking a bellflower. The innocence of women is more powerful than that of the…She saw a fraction of the page and then was interrupted.
"Miss Granger, give that book to me at once." Snape thrust his hand toward her leaving no room for argument. She closed it and held it out to him where he snatched it from her grasp. He held the book behind his back as if to shield her from its wicked contents.
"What on earth do you think you were doing?!" he roared.
What did you think I was doing? She came up with the simplest, the most innocent answer. "Reading, Professor."
"Don't give me that, you foolish girl! You knew this was a dark text. That is playing with fire! You shouldn't be reading any of these!" He gestured to the tables. His expression was fearsome.
Shit. She hadn't returned some of the ones she'd pulled off the shelf. She hadn't cracked them open, she just wanted to see the title, but they weren't visible on the spine.
"I wasn't sir. I was just…"
"I will contact Remus and have this area warded and sealed off immediately…"
"No don't!" Please I'll do anything, please don't lock me out of the only thing that's keeping me sane this summer! Please oh please oh please, please, please. Her brown eyes were giant and pleading.
Satisfied with the outcome of this threat, he let the tension hang. Finally, after pitying the desperate look on her face, he gave in an inch. "Very well. We can ward the books that are here, so long as you agree not to touch them at all. I will be removing the more offensive texts to my office."
Her eye strayed to the hall behind Professor Snape who was standing in front of the sliding glass doors of the study.
Oh no.
In the shadows of the ceiling, Buckwheat's golden eyes were looking at her and then at Professor Snape with confusion of his own. He glared at Hermione. God, even the owl is scolding me.
"Yes of course Professor." She ran past him, making a hasty retreat upstairs, letting the trespassing bird into her room. Gosh that was close.
"Don't give me that look," she said to Buckwheat.
The owl puffed up, as if to say. You're not worth this letter.
"I swear I didn't tell him. I'm his student and I recognized his handwriting, okay? Are you happy now?" She threw herself down on the bed in a resigned huff.
Finally the owl relented, sticking out it's foot but looking away with a swivel of his head.
"Do you have to be so melodramatic? I said I was sorry. Do you think I think this is normal?"
The owl didn't respond.
"Oh. So you're giving me the silent treatment, huh? Fine. See if I bring you food or water. Snape will probably be here all night."
She unwrapped the letter, from Snape and giggled to herself as she knew he could have told her in person. She'd laugh about this one for years.
Dear Sir or Madam:
(Oh so now he is considering the possibility that I might be a woman.)
I was extremely pleased with the result of your hard efforts. Ms. Renou herself described to me the brilliance of your cover art, and had assured me that this work will sell well for it's merit alone.
That being said, I am surprised you would consider taking no compensation for future works. While I once felt safe in the confidential nature of our arrangement, I find myself curious as to how you are so intimately familiar with the obscurest trivia in my field of study.
I am grateful for your generous contribution in copyrighting the unique script, as well as your glowing remarks concluding the book. Gesupelte has not only been a formidable figure in my research efforts but also his contributions have influenced the theoretical framework for my practice.
I am eager for the second volume, but take all of the time that you require to do it well.
As usual there was no signature.
Hermione read it several times. Never. Never had she heard such praise from his lips or in print regarding anyone. She wasn't likely to again. I'll sleep with it under my pillow, she chuckled. Now she really did want to get his goat and tell him.
Gosh, did Katie really say the book could sell just based on the knotwork? Well, it was pretty good. Hermione had chosen knots which she felt represented her best wishes for him. However secret. The book challenged the community with wise advice— and it was powerful, a wealth of knowledge.
But the maze? That was all about Snape. He was in a dark place. And she prayed for him daily to emerge a stronger person. She was surprised that his occupation hadn't ruined him. She prayed that he would have continued health and survive to escape his perilous duty.
The owl hooted and she checked downstairs. Snape was still there. She looked back toward Buckwheat and shook her head. He plopped on the bed and closed his eyes. It was going to be a long night. She wondered if she should pen a reply.
Dear Artist:
Your approval of my work is a relief to me. It was hard to wait through hundreds of pages and worry about negative feedback. I hope the illustrations were to your specifications.
I must admit, people hardly ever employ calligraphers anymore in the wizarding world for this type of large work. That was why I was so honored (among other reasons which I dare not share publicly) to pen such a manuscript. While I practice my art often, I have only recently sold my work. Your assignment was only the second one I have been selected for.
It should therefore be obvious that this is not my chief vocation, nor my main interest. I am eager to explore some of your suggestions to conclusion, and look forward to the advances it will obviously inspire in the artistic field of potions.
I am pleased to hear that Gesupelte was among your influences… lucky guess. I will send on the next manuscript as soon as I can.
Warmest regardsShe signed it with her circular symbol. She sighed and hoped it was cryptic enough. It would be as close as she would get to telling him outright. She read it over and over for slips or errors. Had she said too much? She tired of thinking on it and wrapped it, waiting to tie it to the owl later.
She went downstairs to eat, deciding on a simple stirfry with rice. Leftovers for tomorrow would make it easier to focus on finishing book two. She opened a butterbeer in celebration as she chopped, wishing she has a glass of wine instead. She had been close. That book… obviously Snape wanted it. He was still reading it in the library, she was sure of it.
Snowpeas, chicken, broccoli, celery, cabbage… A little bit of everything, that's what she liked. She minced ginger and garlic throwing it in hot oil first along with the chicken. Stirring quickly, she added the vegetables a pinch of salt, white pepper, soy, and a tablespoon of sugar. Don't forget to put the sugar, her mom would say. She added a little soy, and a cornstarch paste to thicken it. She covered it and removed it from the heat. Taking a swig of butter beer, she reached for the napkin drawer.
Snape was standing in the kitchen doorway with an interested look.
This is a surprise. Quit it Hermione, stop it. He's your teacher.
"Are you hungry? There's definitely enough for both of us. And others probably…" she laughed. She opened the lid. She easily made too much even for three more people.
"I didn't know you aspired to replace Molly Weasley," he jibbed.
She set the table for two, "I assume you'll join me?"
Snape gave a curt nod. He went to the cupboard and retrieved the only substance for drinking, butterbeer.
"Before you eat, I want to assure you that Mrs. Weasley culinary talents could never be replaced, certainly not by me." She set the steaming plate before him with two plates and silverware.
He snorted. "That is the truth. Do you think she might accept a post in the kitchens of Hogwarts? I would not object."
"I think the house elves would riot and Dobby would lead the rebellion," she said lightheartedly. She had seen him command the kitchen. There would be hell to pay if anyone would try to cook in their kitchen. Hermione knew from experience. She tried to make Hagrid a homemade cake once for his birthday and Dobby and Winky had banned her from midnight kitchen raids for three weeks.
He laughed out loud, knowing that house elves were not to be intruded upon. They worked well by themselves, but did not 'play well with others.'
The dinner went pretty well considering the company. She resisted the desire to ask him about his summer, or potions lest she tread in deep waters.
He retired to the study with a small thank you, and left behind a spotless plate.
Still in the library, Hermione played piano for a while and adjourned upstairs. At this rate, Buckwheat would never be able to leave.
When she passed the portrait of Mrs. Black she heard whispered arguing.
"Phineas, why not?" Mrs. Black demanded low.
"You know why and stop trying to talk about this in front of … present company," he hissed.
"She has to know! Hermione…" she whispered.
"Don't say it…" he countered.
"Enough already!" Hermione interjected with her own soft tones. "Why are we whispering?"
"He's downstairs."
"So what? He's trustworthy," she offered.
"That is debatable, young lady." Phineas Nigellus retorted.
"Let's talk later." Mrs. Black said earnestly.
"No, let's talk now." Hermione argued.
"Filthy little ungrateful…"
"Oh no you don't!" Hermione grabbed the edges of the curtains in a stare down with Mrs. Black.
"Hermione, I overheard something. Ask me later." Mrs. Black said in her faintest voice. Hermione just realized she'd used her first name twice instead of the usual derogatory insult.
Hermione pulled back from the portrait and nodded with a look of concern.
Phineas piped up after she shut her bedroom door. "Now you've done it."
***
Author's notes:
Sorry I forgot to ref the music in the last chapter. And also sorry for such a limited array of it. Songs that appeared were "Real" by Donna Allen off The Specialist soundtrack. "Close Your Eyes", "Whenever You Call" and "Outside" all by Mariah Carey on her Butterfly album. "No Ordinary Love" and "Is It a Crime" by Sade. Sarah McLauglin appeared before with lyrics to "Angel." Love the Billy Joel Cold Spring Harbor Album. Good stuff.
Also available, how to cook decent stir fry. A word from my father-in-law's broken English… "Don't forget put the sugar. Always put the sugar."
Maxy: Thank you chicka! And a goddess I be. Cool, and now I appoint you an assistant editor, especially if I slip up with the accuracy of Catholic references. I'm Christian (Disciples of Christ) though I have been often to mass.
Jade: Thank you very much!
HarryPotterFreak1234: Now we get down to the object more in depth lay-tah. It will take me at least another chapter to bring us to fall term.
Ahiwai- I hope I can slip in more spy stuff. As always there will definitely be sneaking around. Yeah she is stubborn isn't she? Gotta love a fiery woman. Girl power! It will not be HG/AD. I love Albus just don't looove Albus. Ew. Oh—you mean after the… riiight.
Ezmerelda: Thank you for the feedback. And yay, it was proofreaded well! wink Poor Sev he needs more spice I his life. And shampoo.
Lyress: yay! Glad you think so. Haven't figured out Draco's role. Though I had thought about putting him and Pansy together.
Azulkan: Thanks… another cliffie. Actually this chapter was getting too long. I had to stop somewhere.
faerluthio: Ooh you sneaky devil. Sneak again sometime. I will reward you handsomely.
Angie S: Thank you. I myself fantasize about learning such an art. But, may likely not happen. Enh. I may try it sometime.